


All the Money in the World

by AnotherAnon0



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Banter, Belts, Developing Relationship, First Time, Flogging, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Handcuffs, Light BDSM, M/M, Oral Sex, Roleplay, S&M, Spanking, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:35:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24671686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/pseuds/AnotherAnon0
Summary: Nicholai Zinoviev and Albert Wesker have a budding relationship.
Relationships: Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Albert Wesker, Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Sergei Vladimir (mentioned)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

"You remind me of Sergei."

The deep mutter cut through the darkness, reverberating off of the intricate wrought iron balustrade of the balcony. It bounced around in the air for a moment, clicking off of the brass sconces and dripping down the weak, orange glow of light they offered. 

Nicholai clicked his tongue in a pouty tsk, "Why? Because we are both Russian?" He shook his head in comical protest, "Then, you remind me of Queen Elizabeth!"

Albert bristled, crossing his arms over his chest and sucking a sharp breath through his nose, "No. Because you have the same mannerisms."

"He is like a father to me. So I will take that as a compliment." Nicholai licked the smile from his lips, tapping his dwindling cigarette against the railing. Smouldering ash rained nonchalantly to the lush, green garden below. 

It had just rained. The humidity was beating off of the leaves and flowers, releasing a fragrance that was inappropriately beautiful for Arklay. The small puffs of noxious smoke didn't stand a chance in the war against the fresh air. It underscored it, in fact. Complimented it, even. 

Albert had never liked the smell of cigarettes.

And yet.

"It wasn't meant to be." He attempted a venomous retaliation, cocking his head in smug defiance as he leaned back against the railing behind him.

The laugh Nicholai emitted was genuine, the Russian quickly plucking the cigarette from his mouth as he flashed a bright, white grin into the calm, empty midnight sky before him. He licked his lips, turning to the man who was lingering a few feet from him. His deep, blue eyes were sparkling with sarcastic amusement.

"I _know_."

Albert crossed his arms tighter, a devilish smirk painting itself over his peachy face as he attempted a pesky prod, "Do you often fuck your father figures?"

Another bellowing laugh, this time coupled with tendrils of smoke as Nicholai had been mid-drag when Albert's assertion tickled its way into his ear. The wisps fluttered from his nose and mouth like grey ghosts disappearing into the starry nothingness above.

"Do you often _watch me_ fuck my father figures?" 

"It's a small mansion..." Albert grumbled, scrubbing a gloved hand through his hair as he, again, came to the frustrating realisation that Nicholai Zinoviev truly did have a witty retort for everything.

The younger man took one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it out into the garden, letting the smoke linger inside of him for longer than usual -- waiting for an intense burn to develop in his lungs before exhaling slowly, dipping his head back and closing his eyes as the noxious fumes left his body, a rush of nicotine pumping through his blood giddily.

Albert took a silent moment to assess Nicholai's face. On the backdrop of the dark night sky, it was almost deathly pale. The dim light trickling from the sconce cast a gold aura on the back of his head, tickling the wisps of his silver locks like precious metal being forged. 

"Why do you keep calling me here, _Alsha_?"

 _Alsha._

The other man pursed his lips when the delicate syllables licked his temples. It wasn't the first time he'd heard the Russian call him by a diminutive, but the last time it had happened he'd spent hours considering the name, the inflection, the way in which it danced along Nicholai's tongue and delighted his senses.

 _Alsha_. 

Nicholai didn't offer a moment in waiting for the answer he knew would never come -- an answer he knew already -- before he turned swiftly and crossed the threshold into the elaborate bedroom, the warm glow of the intricate chandelier dangling in the centre of the printed tin ceiling enrobing him in a fanciful yellow tint.

"I have always found it funny..." He began, sauntering up to the antique mirror and assessing himself intently, "... how people like you and Sergei feel loneliness... have needs."

Albert slowly stepped into the room, manifesting in the mirror a short distance from Nicholai's back, perched over his shoulder in the reflection.

"You have _all the money in the world_... So much power..." The younger man muttered, fingers tapping along his own collarbone as he craned his neck to watch the muscles and tendons in his neck dance, "And yet you are lonely."

He cast his head over his shoulder, and for once there was a pensive, neutral expression on his face. His ocean-blue eyes flicked towards the other man, directing a soft murmur towards him that was barely audible over the light gust picking up outside, hollowly reverberating through the still-open doors of the balcony.

"Two lonely people can't keep each other company, _Alsha_."

Albert adjusted his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose with an index finger. His gaze was frantically scanning the carpet, searching through the elaborate map of Persian designs for answers to questions he was silently asking himself. 

It had been almost one month since the little ritual had begun. A ritual he didn't understand why he had started, and didn't understand why he couldn't stop. 

At first, he'd been able to mask it in cold, banal, utilitarian functions. Discussions about Umbrella, contracts, B.O.Ws -- _anything_ that made it seem as though calling Nicholai to his office or quarters had a _purpose_. 

At first, he'd accepted his own lies. He told himself he was just trying to lure the younger man for information, private procurements, position him away from Sergei and towards him. He was a good soldier, after all. 

At first, he'd numbed out the pesky realisation that their conversations had consistently been shifting towards the personal. Nicholai was cleaver, and caught him at his initial, subtle attempts at offering him private contracts. He'd wag his finger in his face comically, chiding him for ' _sneaking behind the Colonel's back,'_ before launching into some Russian literary allegory or another. Tolstoy. Dostoevsky. Chekhov.

At first, he'd tried to ignore the tiny moments of honesty the rituals had wrought between them. He knew damn well he shouldn't have been telling Nicholai as much as he was. And yet he continued. The younger Russian never prodded like Sergei did, and sat silent as intimate details bubbled out of Albert's lips without calculation. He always offered something in return -- details about himself. Stories, sometimes humorous, about his life. A life that was far from average, but beautifully _human_.

At first, he hated the burden of knowing what was happening.

And then he didn't. 

Nicholai had sat himself down on the tufted cushion stool before the mirror. His elbow was propped on his crossed thigh, a fist under his chin as he continued to watch himself in the mirror, eyes occasionally dancing their way up to the reflection of the other man who had, somehow, gotten slightly closer in his idle, reflective pacing. 

"Have you ever _been with_ someone, Doctor?"

Albert didn't realise his head had been dropped towards the carpet until Nicholai spoke, shooting his gaze up towards the other man's reflection in the mirror. The way he cleared his throat, noisy and anxious, was entirely involuntary. 

"There was a woman. Edonian..." He mumbled softly, immediately discontented by his response. 

Nicholai smirked into the mirror, eyes sparking a twinkle again.

"Did you enjoy her?"

Albert fell silent, a shrug pulsating its way across his shoulders as he cast his gaze to the side awkwardly.

Nicholai was the only one who asked him such personal questions, and he did it with a confidence that almost mimicked entitlement to the answer.

He was also the only one Albert had resolved to tolerate it from.

"All the money in the world can't buy you friends or a good fuck." He nodded curtly, clicking his tongue as if he was absorbing the details intently, "Noted."

The Russian stood abruptly, running his hands along his dark grey t-shirt to work out the wrinkles that has set in. He ran his eyes over his own body's reflection in the mirror for a final moment before turning on his heels and striding the short distance to the other man, stopping when the toes of their boots were practically touching.

A sharp breath caught in Albert's throat when Nicholai reached up and gently pulled his glasses off, grabbing them by the temple hinges and slipping them from his head before unceremoniously tossing them to the floor. 

" _Luchshe_."

"I don't spe--"

Albert's insistence at a translation was interrupted by Nicholai's lips quickly colliding with his. The Russian's tongue slid across his mouth, sucking up every bit of air that tried to pass through and prodding him gently to reciprocate. Nicholai's hands slipped around the back of Albert's head, calloused fingers mingling with the soft, golden hair as he pulled the other man into him hungrily.

A shudder wracked Albert's body, arms slowly finding their way around Nicholai's hips as he adjusted to the warm flush flooding across his cheeks. He parted his lips slightly, letting Nicholai's tongue slip into his mouth. The prodding became more intense, expertly interrogating every inch of moist tissue, running across his cheeks, colliding against his tongue, lapping at the inside of his lips with serpentine demand. He could feel gasps reverberating through his throat with no where to go, no way to express. His oxygen was likewise depleted, and he savoured the moment of painful emptiness screaming from his lungs. 

Nicholai gasped slightly when he broke away, keeping his nose nestled against Albert's as he waded through the slightly red-tinted grey of his eyes. 

_Anxiety. Curiosity. Satisfaction. Need._

His hand fell to grab Albert's collar, pushing the man towards the bed with an aggressive shove.

" _Sidet_..." He ordered breathily, correcting himself into English with a hiccup, "Sit, sit."

Albert readily complied, mind still hazy from the kiss. The lush duvet on the massive mattress curled around him as he leaned back on his forearms, watching the other man kneel between his legs. A positively devilish expression formed across every pore in Nicholai's face, complimenting the pastel tint that had swiped across his nose and cheeks as though with an invisible paintbrush.

"Did your Edonian woman do this?"

Albert shook his head, trying to clear his throat of the iron-clad ball that had formed there but failing miserably as Nicholai began to make quick work of his belt, nimble fingers unbuckling the leather and popping the sleek row of buttons beneath it. His hand dove into the opened fabric, prompting an idle, anticipatory moan from the older man.

" _Otlichno_!" Nicholai gasped a laugh as freed Albert's erection, ocean-blue eyes dancing along the veiny contours of the strained arousal with delight as though he'd just stumbled upon a prize, " _Eto bol'shoy_."

Albert didn't bother asking for the translations, jaw clenched so tight he wasn't sure if he would have been able to speak even if he wanted to. 

Jagged, rapid breaths whistled through his nose as Nicholai brought his tongue to run along the length, eyes locked on his in a devious assertion. He curled it around the head, closing his lips at the tip and sucking gently while his tongue prodded the tight opening aggressively. Albert threw his head back, a desperate gasp escaping his lips, tendons in his neck contracting as his mind attempted to process the overwhelming pleasure. 

Nicholai enrobed his cock with his mouth, dipping his head down over the erection slowly. He bobbed his head methodically, working it deeper and deeper until it pushed through the tight, warm rings of muscle in his throat. Albert could feel every hum of approval reverberating through the younger man's mouth, painful shockwaves electrifying through his hips with every small moan that buzzed through Nicholai's mouth while he was swallowing him. 

Albert could feel his mouth was gaping pathetically now, muted groans peppering out as Nicholai buried his nose in the fabric of the other man's trousers, stopping for a moment to adjust his breathing as his throat worked to accommodate the large erection. 

Sticky, moist squelching noises began to fill the the grand room, filth unbefitting of the elaborate velvet tapestries and opulent, pressed wainscoting. 

Nicholai dragged his lips over the length as he pulled away, letting the tip linger at his lips and catching a subtle breath before working back. He suppressed a chuckle when he tasted the man's precum beginning to spill into his mouth. He savoured it, letting it coat his mouth and tongue, swallowing when an excess began to accumulate, some of the precious seed spilling from the corners of his lips.

Albert almost tasted like Sergei. Nicholai wondered if that had anything to do with the overflow of viral bodies in their systems. 

Nicholai bobbed his head over the erection faster, casting the occasional glance up to take in the sight of Albert's pleasure-striken face, peachy skin dressed pink as his lips quivered over broken words and pointless sounds. He massaged Albert's calves as he sucked harder, cheeks dipping in to grip at the twitching erection.

Albert slipped a hand over his head, pushing the Russian down into his hips as his climax began to apex. Nicholai accepted the guidance without resistance, slipping the cock deep into his throat and holding it there as it began to flood his airway with orgasm, swallowing as quickly as he could to keep up with the stream of cum filling his stomach.

The Russian waited for Albert to stop shuddering before pulling away, sucking the cock clean as it left his mouth and prompting a final gasp of painful pleasure from the older man. Albert's hand fell to the side as Nicholai moved, releasing the tousle of short, silver locks he had been gently using as a grip.

Nicholai sat back on his heels, licking his swollen lips contentedly as he assessed the mess he had made of the stoic virologist. His normally pristinely slicked blonde hair was tousled, ragged breaths overwhelming him, face almost beet-red in a desperate flush.

"Good. Yes?" He peeped chipperly, voice confident but raspy.

Albert quivered a nod, body jerking in the aftermath of orgasm as he tried desperately to sit up. 

A moment of silence passed between them, eyes mingling and mixing. 

Blue on grey. Amused satisfaction against exhausted satisfaction. 

Nicholai stood with ease, shaking out each numb leg, gaze still fixated on the other man. He was very obviously suppressing a grin.

"It feels... odd...rude... not to ask you if you... _need_ something in return..." Albert cleared his throat, rubbing his hand along his thigh anxiously, "I was raised with etiquette, you know." He grumbled.

Nicholai winked, licking his lips and cocking his head to the side in amusement before turning towards the bedroom door.

He stopped to pick up Albert's glasses, tossing them on the bed with a casual, underhanded throw.

" _Vse den'gi vy mire_..."


	2. Mister Policeman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albert wants to try something new.

"I want to do what you do with Sergei."

Albert's request had come as a surprise to Nicholai. His eyebrows had cocked in shock, almost spitting out his cigarette and spilling his espresso as he desperately stifled a childish giggle. The Brit was wringing his hands at his waist uncomfortably, eyes darting frantically behind the black tint of his sunglasses.

Nicholai plucked the cigarette from his lips, running his tongue from corner to corner before nodding slowly, taking a deep breath in and savouring the scent of the cool, afternoon air. 

It was almost spring. A new wave of flowers was blossoming, the tropical perennials fawning pops of colour throughout the lush, green scene of the Spencer estate.

He knew how hard it must have been for the _good Doctor_ to make such a request. While the nighttime ritual had transmuted from pointless banter and desperate subject-seeking since _that night_ , Albert was still an amateur by all means. 

A brilliant virologist. An incredible soldier. A superhuman genius -- But sexually repressed and deafeningly unaware of his own needs.

The nights that allowed it gave Nicholai the opportunity to be an experiment. A sacrifice. A teacher.

Nicholai wasn't usually so generous with his time or efforts, and yet he looked forward to their trysts. Jaunts that had become hidden away in the elaborate bedrooms of the mansion, the dark corners of the wine grotto, the lawn maintenance equipment shed in the back of the garden, and even the garden itself. Nicholai had let Albert explore him in any way he chose with a giddy willingness. 

He enjoyed watching the stoic, dominant demon fold for him. A man who could and did strike fear into the hearts of anyone and everyone, unravelling between his legs into a mess -- a very _human_ mess. 

Nicholai pat his cigarette out on the cement railing of the patio, cracking his neck against his shoulders as he navigated a way to put a response into words.

"Well... do you want to do what I do? Or what Sergei does?"

Albert bristled. Nicholai could hear the sound of the breath getting caught in his throat, and suppressed another giggle.

"... What y-you..." He didn't finish, words getting lost once the implication was made clear. 

"Do you have handcuffs?" Nicholai rubbed his lips together and smirked, eyes turning towards the older man with a devilish glint, "The ones from your little _politsiya_ day job?"

Albert awkwardly cast his chin towards the uniform utility vest that was hanging on the intricate wooden coat tree in the corner of the office, just barely visible around the corner of the large, propped open double doors to the balcony. 

Nicholai downed the remainder of his espresso in one sip, setting the saucer and glass down on the balcony raining. It made a chipper _clink_ that complimented the gracious songs of the birds who were ringing in the new season.

He turned into the office, approaching the S.T.A.R.S emblazoned vest with a confident stride. He could hear Albert gasp a complaint behind him, one he didn't care much to respond to as he began to search the vest intently.

"It's... 11:30 in the morning!"

Nicholai stopped thumbing through the pockets, casting a glance over his shoulder nonchalantly as he watched Albert stumble into the office, "So late already?"

Finally, the sounds of scraping metal and rattling chain filled the otherwise silent room. Nicholai snatched the handcuffs from the pocket, turning and tossing them at Albert unceremoniously. The man caught them against his chest, eyebrows cocking in surprise as he watched the Russian begin to peel his shirt off, discarding the light fabric in the corner of the room.

"I... This isn't even the bedroom!" He whispered harshly, as though someone were listening through the painting-decorated walls.

"I hope you have the keys for those." Nicholai asserted, ignoring Albert's protest and beginning to undo his belt. He slipped the thick, brown strap out from his pantloops, folding it in half before slowly walking up to Albert. 

"This -- you use this." He said smugly, holding the belt out in offer. 

It took a moment for Albert to accept it. He kneaded it between his fingers and palm. The leather was warm from Nicholai's body heat. He assessed the rough texture of the makeshift whip, contrasting it against the coolness of the metal cuffs in his other hand. 

Fire and ice. 

"Where do you want me?" The sultry murmur broke Albert's distracted thinking. Nicholai smirked, a smarmy expression crossing his face, " _Sir_."

An iron-clad ball began to form in Albert's throat. This was foreign territory. 

Nicholai was running his hand over his muscular abs, head cocked to the side in curious amusement. The twinkle behind his eyes had become omnipotent. 

"Just treat me like one of your criminals..." He said, breaking the silence that had come over the room with a tongue clicking over the syllables of the prompts, "Or captives."

Albert cleared his throat, pointing towards the large, wooden desk that was at the back of the room, "There. Kneel at the foot of the desk."

Nicholai bowed his head slightly, acknowledging the order before rapidly following it. 

There was no carpet in the office. The floor was solid hardwood, and Nicholai could feel his knees protesting the position he was being manipulated into by Albert's gloved hands. The man had wasted no time in cuffing him to the desk, tightening the metal links until they were practically suffocating the delicate tendons between his wrist bones. He'd secured one hand, looping the chain around one of the legs before locking the other -- binding him to the impossibly heavy, antique oak desk.

Albert guided him back slightly, propping his hips up until his arms were resting on the ground.

"Now get up." 

On shaky, awkward legs, Nicholai rose to one foot, then the other. There was no leeway for him, the desk's leg being only a few inches of navigable length and the chain of his handcuffs hitting a wooden cross-bar quickly. While he was able to straighten his legs, he had to remain bent over completely, head ducked by his parted knees. The strain in his stretched legs was already irritating him, but he swallowed his usual tendency towards witty complaints. 

He was supposed to be _submissive_ , after all.

Albert began tugging at his already-loosened trousers, slipping his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs and pushing them down around his thighs. He suppressed a shudder, fingers reverently dancing along the perfectly curved, pale flesh of Nicholai's rear. 

He took a step back, drawing in the sight of Nicholai's willing vulnerability with a clenched jaw, hand tightening its grip around the leather belt it was holding in the steady, involuntary pulses that came with idle thought. Eyes absorbing every square inch of Nicholai's body, Albert felt a metaphorical switch _flick_ in his mind -- one that always seemed to engage when the Russian splayed himself out for him. 

"How many lashes do you think you deserve?"

Nicholai bit his bottom lip to suppress a grin.

"Mister Policeman knows best..."

"If I were to give you all I wanted, we'd be here all day." Albert growled venomously, "So pick a number."

The younger man felt his stomach begin to burn with the familiar fire that emanated from his hips. The smoke was rising into his throat, casting a lusty haze behind his eyes. He could hear the leather of the strap crunching and straining in Albert's hand. He could practically smell it as it was kneaded anxiously, casting off wisps of delightfully authoritarian notes as it mingled and intensified with the leather of Albert's glove.

"Ten?"

"Too low. Try again."

"Twenty..?"

"Again."

"Thirty." 

Albert smirked, looping the end of the belt around his fist once, "We'll add ten to that for each of your wrong answers. How many does that make?"

"Fifty, _Sir_." Nicholai's voice had gradually dropped to a breathy mutter. 

The first strike bore down upon Nicholai without further discussion or forewarning, eliciting a gasp of surprise. The slow-burn of pain began welling up to the surface of his flesh. From his purview, eyes trapped static between his legs, he wasn't able to see much more of Albert than the occasional glimpse of his boots or shin, neither of which gave him much indication of when the other man was going to lash him next.

Albert felt his bones quivering with the reverberation of the first strike. His tongue swiped across his lower lip, hand coming up to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he fixated his gaze on the reddening strip of flesh reddening gradually. He told himself he was sighing when it was really a pant. A pant of excitement. Invigoration. Swelling arousal at the control he had over Nicholai’s body and fate. 

"Count them out." He muttered, deep, accented voice suddenly cracked under a lusty rasp.

" _Da, gospodin politseyskiy_..."

The second strike fell almost perfectly against the remnants of the first, causing Nicholai to yelp in the first demonstration of true pain.

"T.. two..." His teeth grit, eyes clenching shut as he waiting for the next.

_Fwap!_

"Ahh – _b-blyat_." Nicholai stomped a boot against the ground, teetering slightly, "Three. Three."

The moments between lashes four and ten were a haze for the Russian. He was sure he had miscounted more than once, but Albert didn’t seem to notice or care – his focus devoted entirely to the next strike, and then the next, landing them in perfect synchronicity across the already welted flesh with as much casual force as his arm could muster.

Nicholai's legs buckled after fifteen, Albert clicking his tongue in sarcasm-laden disappointment as he watched the man fall awkwardly to his knees, tearless, gaping sobs wracking his chest. 

"We're barely a third of the way through, dear Nicholas." He smirked, combing his hands over the warm leather belt as he breathily rolled through a taunt, "Surely your pain tolerance is better than that."

The Russian shrieked when the toe of Albert's boot made contact with his beet-red bottom, lightly tapping the abused flesh in a mocking prompt.

"Come on now. Get up."

" _D_ -d _a, gospodin politseyskiy_..." Nicholai panted through ragged breaths, slowly bringing himself to his feet with the stabilising assistance of Albert grabbing at his trousers and guiding him. He resumed the only position he was capable of, bent at the waist, head between his now-trembling knees, fully exposed for more lashes.

Albert pursed his lips, subtly giving the younger man a moment to recover, "How many does Sergei take... when he asks you to beat him?"

Nicholai gasped a chuckle, desperately combatting the involuntary tears welling up in his eyes demanded by his impossibly pained, impossibly hot flesh.

"One hundred? Two hundred? Until my arms give out." His voice was raspy, barely there.

"Crazy bastard." Albert muttered, rolling his neck until it cracked before sighing in delight at the sound of Nicholai's jagged breathing. "Do you remember what number we were on?"

"Fif... Si... I- I don't..." The shaky words were accompanied by an audible swallow of anxiety. 

Albert shook his head, _tsk_ -ing loudly, "Shame. We'll just have to start again, then..."

Nicholai gasped, eyes shooting open into the fabric of his trousers, " _N... Nyet!_ "

"You said it yourself." Albert chuckled, "Mister policeman knows best."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Glad you read this far!
> 
> Translations:
> 
> "politsey" = Police.
> 
> "Da, gospodin politseyskiy..." = Yes, Mister Policeman.
> 
> "Blyat" = Fuck.
> 
> ~
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! I want to continue with this pairing for some reason...

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> Luchshe/Лучше = Better.
> 
> Sidet/сидеть = Sit.
> 
> Otlichno/Отлично = Very good.
> 
> Eto bol'shoy/Это большой = It is big.
> 
> Vse den'gi v mire/Все деньги в мире = All the money in the world.
> 
> ~
> 
> This was fun. I wanted to try dipping my toes into... shall we call it Weskoviev? This is the first Wesker/Zinoviev on this site anyway, so again I am blazing trails. First Sergei/Nicholai, first Murphy/Nicholai, and first Albert/Nicholai!
> 
> Likely will do another, but with more.... >_> kinky sex.
> 
> Should I continue this on as a series between Wesker and Nicholai? Maybe explore the whole "double agent" thing happening in RE3Make? Let me know!


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